


Mercy

by Dominatrix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I mean it's an experiment how could he say no to that?, Romance, Uuuuh I love this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene has a very special offer to try something, and Sherlock just can't resist her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

„How a about a little experiment, Mr. Holmes?” Sherlock looked up from his magazine – to be honest, he had looked at it with his usual lack of interest rather than really reading it – and glanced at the door frame. “Well, Miss Adler, I do not know exactly what you mean when you say experiment.” “Just a test, a very harmless, uncontroversial thing.” The intonation of her velvety voice told him already that Irene Adler was not interested in something uncontroversial. But Sherlock was curious. He knew too little about the woman that had beaten him that he could just have refused her offer. “I assume that this is a game of power. A try to find the superior of the two of us, probably without significant results.” Irene pushed off the door frame on which she had been leaning, a bright however rather devilish smile on her face, and came over to his bed. She sat down on its edge and crossed her legs. “Oh no, my dear Holmes. The results would be...pioneering, perhaps actions and feelings that are unique.” She didn’t need to say more, basically, she had him since she had started to talk about an experiment. And although Sherlock was not quite sure whether this - whatever Irene had planned - was good...He was not capable of refusing it.

“Good. Prepare everything.” Her eyes flashed dangerously when she opened the knot that was holding her black dressing gown close to the curves of her waist. She was waiting until Sherlock had put down the magazine in his hands onto the bedside table und looked at her again before she was letting the gown slide off her shoulders. In contrast to their first encounter she was now indeed wearing clothes. The negligee nestled to the curves of her body and was just held uptight by two fine straps. Its colour, a deep Bordeaux red, matched the natural, dark pink tint of her sensual lips that parted in a joyous smile right now in the most exclusive and perfect manner. With her glance still on Sherlock, she reached to her neck and removed the hair slide that had held her mahogany hair in a bun. Without a single word, Irene pulled back the sheets under which Sherlock was yet lying and laid down to his side slowly and carefully. His view was still on her face. “And now?” he asked, recognizing that his voice sounded some kind of husky with huge astonishment. “We let the experiment begin.” Her manner of saying these words left no doubt that she was enjoying her position.

He did not know how long they were lying there, motionless, just almost touching, and stared at the ceiling without losing a single word. Now and then he was looking at her from the corner of his eye, covertly, and the amused expression on her face told him that she felt his glances on her skin. Sometime, after a period of time that couldn’t be estimated – not even by Sherlock, because everything in his head was as muddled as never before – he heard a little movement. The sheets crackled almost inaudible as Irene slowly moved her hand towards his. Just before she had touched him, Sherlocks heart beat quickened, he could feel it, and he was perfectly sure that Irene could feel it, too. When her skin skimmed over his, every fingertip of her was like a firework in front of his eyes. Carefully, she let her hand slide in his and caressed the back of his hand, while he, driven by nothing but pure reflex, let his fingertips glide to the place where her blood was pulsating the most, without really knowing what he was doing right now. “What...is this?” he asked, completely thunderstruck. “I want to try something.” “And what would that be?” “I want to make you beg for mercy.” “Twice?” “At least.”

She smiled as she turned her head to the side and looked at him, her hand still in his. This fact hindered him in great extent to think clearly, which he thought of as highly frustrating. “Do you take my pulse right now?” she murmured quietly. “Why are you sounding so surprised? You are taking mine, too.” She nodded and the fire in her eyes flashed once again. “I’m just wondering...” “What?” Long ago he was hanging on her lips and checked every tiny motion of her face, hoping he would learn something more about her. But he was not very successful. She was still a closed book to him. The only point he could relate to was what she felt right now, what was on her mind at the very moment. It was like she had no story, no past, but just this instant. A disturbing as well as a fascinating thought.

“What would happen if I...” She drew her face near to his until they were very close. Her pupils were strongly widened, which had to mean that she wasn’t playing a game as she wanted to make him believe. In her the same things happened as in him. Irene swung upon him in a very fluent motion and looked down on him. Her eyes were ostensible unmoved, but the insecure trait around her mouth and the manner in which her jawbones were tensing and loosening told Sherlock leastways one thing about this woman: She was as helpless as he was right now. However, her fingers were not trembling when they wandered from Sherlock’s waist upwards to his chest, until she rested her hands next to his head and bent down to him. But Sherlock’s ambition was now awakened. Without him waiting for her next move he laid his hand on her neck and pulled her down firmly. Her eyes flashed questioning when he closed his and their lips touched.

The first moment was a shock. Mostly because the feeling that spread out as fast and abrupt as a devastating wildfire topped everything that he had ever felt, even if that sounded highly improbable. However, another reason which must not be neglected was the fact that Irene started to reply the kiss after a surprised noise that could not leave her throat. Her lips urged on his in a demanding and almost desperate manner, so he would not stand a chance to end the kiss if he wanted – which he actually did not. He really did not want to stop feeling this way.  Probably Sherlock was not very good in what he was doing right now, but it felt familiar in a very strange kind of way, so he could switch off all rational thoughts and just concentrate on the emotions that were bombarded on him like the feared Londoner October hailstorms. He felt her warm and soft lips on his, and he could not imagine they ever had another place.

Following a sudden inspiration he sat up and turned, while she was pushed against his chest tightly, which was lowering and rising in a rapid speed, und laid Irene down on the sheets so he was above her. Still in approaches the man he usually was he paid attention to support himself on his elbows so she could still breathe smoothly. However, none of them was still breathing smoothly. Her hasty breath was only narrowly parted from gasping. This spoke clearly of the fact that they were both completely overwhelmed by this situation. Sherlock looked down on Irene, while she replied his glance with eyes which were widened in astonishment. An inexplicable hint of tenderness came over him and he gently stroked her hair out of her forehead.

She stretched out to him in a very impatient way and hindered him to say just one single word. Sherlock was on fire right after their lips had found each other again; each square centimetre of his body was burning and pined over something more in the same second. He hoped that this moment would never fade. He knew that there was no logical explanation for these sensations; that he should not react this way, because eventually, he was Sherlock Holmes...However, he did feel this way. He could fight these feelings as scant as his racing heartbeat, the delightful tensions in his chest or the waves of hot shivers that resulted from Irene’s touches. After a while she pushed him away a bit. “Sherlock”, she started, but fell silent when she saw his facial expression. “What’s the matter?” “Nothing. I am listening“, he said, as calm as always. „How can you be so…composed?” “I am not at all composed.” „But you look like it.“ „Inwardly I am just waiting for you to make your point so we don’t lose more time on unimportant incidents. The waste of valuable time is atrocity for me.” “Are you satisfied with the previous results of the experiment?” “I could answer this question much more effective and fast if you would not have your hands under my shirt.”

She smiled seductively. “The way you look at me when you say this…It’s a proper answer to me.” Sherlock bent over her again, a light smile dribbled round the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t the man he usually used to be any longer, he knew that, but he…liked it. He liked it to just let his intellect rest, because although he was attentively on the highest level – eventually the woman under his body was Irene Adler, and she was able to hurt him in a dozen ways – he did not think about a later moment but just about what happened right now. It wasn’t easy to give in to this admission, but he couldn’t think straight any more. He was not able to concentrate, because every time he tried to take some emotional and intellectual distance from what was happening he felt Irene’s touch, her warmth, the feeling of her body under his…As present as a deftly and excellently placed punch in his brain. And all rational thoughts were gone. Just gone. As if they had never existed. If Sherlock had had the power to focus on this he would have found that it was highly frustrating.

Her lips seemed to get softer and softer; they opened to a quiet laugh and wandered over his jaw to his clean-shaved cheeks before Irene let her fingers run through his hair slowly and carefully. Sherlock wasn’t sure how long this moment endured. It seemed to be an eternity, a very pleasant and enjoyable one. He felt his own eye lashes touch his cheek bones and smiled into Irene’s caress. At one special moment of this instant Sherlock was no longer able to determine where his body ended and hers began, because they fitted on each other so perfectly and without objection that it was almost ridiculous.

Meanwhile Irene was lying on top of him again and kissed him with such an overwhelming intensity as if she feared that the world would collapse in a few seconds. Her hands were lying soft and tender on his face, travelling through his hair from time to time or over the spot on his neck where his pulse was racing. Sherlock savoured the sensation of cool silk under his fingertips when he skimmed them over Irene’s back slowly. The heat of her body was omnipresent and easy to feel even under the fabric. Shivering he laid the palms of his hands on her shoulder blades and tried to pull her even closer to him – a lost cause.

A quiet sigh escaped Irene’s lips when she allowed them a little break and rested her head on his chest. Still breathing heavily – but no longer distracted in such a fantastic way – Sherlock took some time to contemplate her. He would not observe but just look at her. Concentrated he blanked out all outer influences and focussed on her face. Every whisper - no matter how quiet and small - of Irene’s past, now, as she was no longer hiding from Sherlock but open to him and as he could now look into her, _read in her_...He made every whisper hush softly but definitely. All this was of no importance right now, because to apprehend her beauty he did not need to know anything about her.

Her mahogany-coloured, softly waved hair was a little messy, but this did just make Irene human. With a little smile on his lips Sherlock let a streak of it run through his fingers and was surprised how silky it felt. The open hair changed something about Irene’s aura, she seemed more vulnerable, easier to attack. He understood why she had never worn it open. A kind of stupid pride took possession of him when he realized that she probably had never before opened her hair for anybody. His smile became even more obvious when he recognized the amused spark in her attentive glance. The shining blue of her eyes was only visible at the borders of her iris because her pupils were almost abnormal widened. Sherlock smiled. “What?” she asked mumbling, also smiling. „This is not a game.“ „Not any longer.“

Yes, it made him happy; in a stupid, strange way it made him happy to know that Irene felt something in his presence. Thus he did not see himself and the feelings – his feelings – as bizarre as before. “Don’t you want to know what this experiment aimed to achieve?” “Is it of any importance?” He hesitated shortly: Now that his breath had slowed down and his heartbeat was not racing as fast anymore he could think rational again, and Irene aggravated his curiosity. “Tell me.” A seductive smile appeared on her beautiful face when she laid her trembling hands on his cheeks. He felt the light, unintended movements of her fingertips. Was she, if possible, even more excited than he was? Her eyes were now shining feverishly, but the light in them was still challenging and completely Irene. “I wanted to find out whether you can feel, too. Whether you would react.” “And how did I manage?” Sherlock asked demonstrative dry and neutral. “Well, I think it could not have ended more satisfying”, the murmured before she pulled Sherlock down in another long and deep kiss.


End file.
